I grew up in the countryside and moved to the city when I was twenty-something, a few years before my mom died. I lived there for twelve to fifteen years and it drove me nuts. A couple of years ago, I started having dreams where I would throw cinderblocks through the windows; I'd watch as they land right on the skulls of people passing by. It took me a while to admit it wasn't normal to have these dreams, and began to fear the moment I would actually do it. Cities isolate you and there's nothing worst than being surrounded by people, yet feeling alone and alienated in your own country.
I moved back to the countryside in January. I packed my things in 48 hours, it didn't take long because I couldn't sleep anymore. My last night there, I spent sitting on the floor back against the wall, mumbling about how much I hated this Goddamn fucking place. I drank more than usual but I didn't feel lightheaded.
Where I live now, I have an internet connection but no hot water and no heating system (just a stove in one room). It's chill in the summer, and colder in the winter. Some of my relatives are horrified by this idea, but oddly enough, I got used to it pretty fast ("would you rather go back to the continuous noise, the faceless crowd and to people speaking a language you don't understand - or would you wash yourself with a bucket of water you warmed on a stove?" Easy choice). I'm split between renovating the place or moving even further away from any form of civilization. At this point, I'm more than willing to do away with running water, electricity, computers and the internet. I'm fucking done.
People around here are nice. You'll still find some social media addicts and do-gooders that have no fucking clue they're comitting mass suicide, but at least, I can wave someone hello and see them wave back. That's more than what I had for the past decade or so.